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Un Morso doo Pang
by
Tessie looked up then, her wide mouth quivering with eagerness. “I’d like to learn to swim–and row a boat–and play tennis–like the rich girls– like the girls that’s making such a fuss over the soldiers.”
Angie Hatton was not laughing. So, after a moment’s hesitation, Tessie brought out the worst of it. “And French. I’d like to learn to talk French.”
Old Man Hatton had been surveying his shoes, his mouth grim. He looked at Angie now and smiled a little. “Well, Angie, it looks as if you’d found your job right here at home, doesn’t it? This young lady’s just one of hundreds, I suppose. Thousands. You can have the whole house for them, if you want it, Angie, and the grounds, and all the money you need. I guess we’ve kind of overlooked the girls. Hm, Angie? What d’you say?”
But Tessie was not listening. She had scarcely heard. Her face was white with earnestness.
“Can you speak French?”
“Yes,” Angie answered.
“Well,” said Tessie, and gulped once, “well, how do you say in French: `Give me a piece of bread’? That’s what I want to learn first.”
Angie Hatton said it correctly.
“That’s it! Wait a minute! Say it again, will you?”
Angie said it again, Tessie wet her lips. Her cheeks were smeared with tears and dirt. Her hair was wild and her blouse awry. “DONNAY-MA-UN-MORSO-DOO-PANG,” she articulated painfully. And in that moment, as she put her hand in that of Chuck Mory, across the ocean, her face was very beautiful with contentment.